


Supernatural: Season One

by ilikepie2009



Series: Supernatural: But Make it Gay [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunters & Hunting, Just rewriting Supernatural, M/M, Other, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quote: Saving people hunting things (Supernatural), Rating: M, Some Humor, m/m - Freeform, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25718659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikepie2009/pseuds/ilikepie2009
Summary: I'm just gay and horny for Sam Winchester.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Original Male Character(s), Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s), Sam/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Supernatural: But Make it Gay [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865446
Kudos: 3





	Supernatural: Season One

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I grumbled as I followed Dean up the iron steps to his brother’s apartment. 

Dean just shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?” He stopped in front of the door and crouched down to start picking the lock. 

“He’s bigger than both of us and was trained to hunt monsters," I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “You really think he’s not going to go all beast mode when he hears something go bump in the night?” 

Dean pushed the door open and looked back at me with a crooked grin. “C’mon, Cori, don’t you wanna meet him?” He didn’t wait for me to respond before walking into the dark entryway. 

I sighed but followed him inside. I’d suggested that we call ahead or at least knock, but Dean had insisted we do it his way. We were in a hurry and couldn’t wait for Sam to answer the phone. If I’d had my way at all, we wouldn’t even be pulling Sam into this. He’d wanted out of The Life and he deserved that. Dean and I could find John all by ourselves. Then Dean had convinced me that it was family business and Sam deserved to know. 

I could barely see Dean’s silhouette ahead of me and he disappeared completely when he turned out of the hallway. Not a second later I heard a thud and rushed forward into what I assumed was a front room. My hand fumbled along the wall for a second until I found a light switch. When I flicked it on, Dean started laughing. 

“Woah, looks like you’ve still got it in you, little bro,” Dean teased from where he was pinned under Sam. 

I’d never met Sam—he’d given up hunting before I’d run into John and Dean—but I knew that the giant currently towering over Dean was definitely him. He was bigger than I imagined, despite Dean telling me that he was over six feet tall and wasn’t a string bean like in the few pictures I’d seen of him. 

He blinked a couple times against the harsh light and then sat back on his heels. “Dean?” 

There were soft footsteps and then a small blonde entered the room in short shorts and a thin Smurfs t-shirt. “Sam? What’s going on?” She looked around the room, first at Sam and then Dean and, lastly, her eyes settled on me. 

Dean brushed himself off as he got to his feet and threw a cocky grin in the newcomers direction. “I love the Smurfs.” 

I rolled my eyes at his gross flirting with Sam’s obvious girlfriend and took a step forward. “This is Dean, Sam’s brother, and I’m…” I paused. I couldn’t very well say I was Dean’s hunting buddy. “A friend. Cori.” 

Sam looked up and seemed to notice me for the first time as he also stood up. He was definitely taller than me--and I was above average for a dude--with broad shoulders, deep eyes, and thin lips. In any other situation, I would probably find him attractive. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, Cori, this is my girlfriend, Jess.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, fixing a hard stare on Dean. “What’re you doing here?” 

Dean looked at me for a second and I shrugged as if to say ‘you got yourself in this mess.’ He cleared his throat and looked back at Sam. “It’s kind of…family stuff.” 

Sam shook his head just barely. “Anything you have to say can be said to the both of us.” 

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Dad went on a hunting trip; hasn’t been home in a few days.” 

Sam’s expression shifted, his jaw twitching, and it was obvious he’d never let Jess in on his past. He took a step to the side so he could look at her. “Jess, can you go put on some coffee or…” 

Jess smiled, put a hand on his arm, and nodded before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“What do you mean?” Sam demanded, crossing his arms. He flicked his head to the side to get the edges of brown hair out of his eyes. 

“Dad went to Jericho on some hunt—” 

“And you didn’t go with him?” Sam questioned. “Since when did Dad start going on hunts alone?” 

“The two of us were on a different hunt,” I explained. “John wouldn’t wait and Dean wouldn’t let me finish off the werewolves by myself.” 

“He said he had some kind of lead on Yellow Eyes,” Dean added. 

A heavy cloud settled over the room at the mention of yellow eyes. John had a hard time talking about what had happened that night, twenty-two years ago, but Dean had told me what had happened. I could only be grateful that my family came from a long line of hunters and didn’t have a tragic backstory forcing me into The Life. Yellow Eyes was some kind of creature that had killed their mom, Mary Winchester. John was driven by grief and anger to drag his kids all over the country in search of the thing and had brought them up as hunters and not children. I wasn’t a big fan of him. 

“I can’t,” Sam said with another shake of his head. “I have an interview for law school, Monday, that I can’t miss.” 

Dean grinned. “It’s Thursday—” 

“Friday,” I corrected. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s Friday. We’ll hurry over to Jericho, find Dad, and be back in time for your interview Monday.” 

Sam hesitated and I didn’t know if he was trying to come up with an excuse or trying to convince himself to come along. And then he sighed. “Fine. Let me go talk to Jess; I’ll be right back.” He made his way to the kitchen and Dean and I walked back to the front door. 

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Dean said proudly. 

“I mean, we still could have tried knocking first, but no, it wasn’t that bad.” 

“And Jess, huh?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at me and I scoffed. 

“Seriously? She’s dating your brother.” 

“Hey, no one’s off limits till they’ve got a ring,” Dean explained. 

I breathed a short laugh and punched his arm. “You are such a horn-dog, Dean. Honestly, sometimes you disgust me.” 

Sam came into view, a duffel bag tossed over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.” 

We left the apartment and were halfway down the stairs when Dean decided to break the news. “Sammy gets shotgun.” 

I stopped with my foot hovering over the next step. “Wait, what?” 

“It’s Sam,” Sam corrected Dean. 

“He’s taller than you,” Dean said by way of explanation, “he needs more leg room.” 

“He’s maybe six inches taller than me,” I complained, following them across the street and to the car. “I get shotgun on the way back, then.” 

Sam pulled the seat forward and I climbed inside. The back wasn’t really that bad; at least I didn’t have to share my space with anyone. I kicked my legs up on the seat and leaned against the cool leather. It was probably around two in the morning now. Just thinking about the time made me yawn. 

The engine rumbled to life and I fell asleep to Kansas blaring through the speakers. 

♪ 

When the car came to a stop, I pulled my face from the seat and looked around. I hadn’t really expected to sleep the entire way to Jericho, but it seemed I’d even managed to sleep through gas stops. 

“Where are we?” I asked, trying to adjust to the sunlight now filling the car. 

“Jericho, California,” Dean said. “And it looks like we’ve stumbled upon a crime scene.” Dean leaned across the car to the glove box. He popped it open and pulled out the box of IDs kept there. He shuffled through them for a second before deciding on one and getting out of the car. Sam and I both straightened our clothes and hair before following. 

The crime scene was on a bridge and it consisted of a single, abandoned car. Cops were swarming the area and a couple of them were looking inside the car. Dean was bee-lining it straight for them. 

“No sign of a struggle,” one of the cops was saying. “It’s almost too clean.”

They both ducked out of the car to talk over top of it. 

“Troy’s dating your daughter, isn’t he?” The second cop asked and the first nodded. “How’s she holding up?” 

Before Cop #1, old and round, could answer, Dean interrupted. “You guys had one just like this last month, didn’t you?” 

Cop #2, tall and black, raised an eyebrow and walked over to them. “And who’re you?” 

Dean flashed a badge and tucked it right back in his pocket. “Federal Marshalls.” 

Cop #2 pulled a face. “Aren’t you a little young to be Federal Marshalls?” 

Dean chuckled. “That’s kind of you.” 

“And how come there are three of you?” 

Dean jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in my direction. “He’s just getting into the field. Now, you guys did have something like this just last month, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, about a mile up the road. And a few others before that.” 

Sam took a step forward, falling right back into the hunter routine. “So, this victim, you know him?” 

The cop smiled. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.” 

Dean made his way around the car and I followed. I had to at least pretend like I was still learning. “Any connection between the victims other than the fact they’re all men?” 

Cop #2 shook his head. 

“So, what’s the theory?” I asked.

“Honestly? We don’t know. Serial killer? Kidnapping rampage?” 

“And that is exactly the kind of crap police work I’d expect outta you guys,” Dean said and I immediately stomped on his foot. He was constantly bad-mouthing cops and risking getting caught. 

I smiled at the obviously confused and suspicious cop. “Thank you for your time.” 

We headed back for the car. 

“What’d you step on my foot for?” Dean demanded. 

“Why d’you gotta talk to cops like that? They’re trying their best.” 

Dean scowled but perked up when a couple guys in suits walked past us. “Agent Moulder, Agent Scully.” 

“So we should probably find this Amy person,” Sam suggested as we got back in the car. “She probably has a guess for why Troy was on that bridge.” 

We were barely getting into town when we noticed two girls putting up Missing Persons posters. 

“I bet one of them is Amy,” I suggested, pointing. Dean pulled over and we all got out of the car. We approached the first girl as she stuck a paper to a bulletin board outside of the movie theater. “Are you Amy?” I asked. 

She turned around and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yeah? Who’s asking?” 

“We’re Troy’s cousins,” I explained. “He told us about you.” 

“He never mentioned you to me.” 

“Yeah, we’re not around much,” Dean hurried. “We’re up in Modesto. I’m Dean, this is Sam, and this is Cori. We’re here to look for Troy, too.” 

Another girl approached Amy with the same dark clothes and make up. “Hey, are you okay? Are they bothering you?” 

Amy seemed to think for a second before she shook her head. “I’m fine.” 

“Do you mind if we ask just a couple questions?” I pushed. “We just wanna know what he was doing on that bridge last night.” 

Amy nodded. “Sure, let’s sit down.” She started down the sidewalk before turning into a little diner. The five of us took seats around a table. 

“Troy and I were talking on the phone,” she started. “He was driving home and he suddenly said he had to go. He said he would call me right back, but…he never did.” 

“Did he say anything out of the ordinary?” Sam asked. 

“Not that I can remember.” 

Dean shifted in his chair to lean forward. “Okay, ladies, here’s the deal; something about the way Troy disappeared isn’t right. So, if you’ve heard anything—anything at all—now is the time to say.” 

The two girls shared a knowing, nervous glance. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“It’s just,” Amy’s friend started, “with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they say?” 

“There’s this local legend. This girl got murdered out on Centennial, decades ago. Supposedly, she’s still out there. She hitchhikes and whoever picks her up disappears, forever.” 

The three of us exchanged a glance this time. That was very much sounding like some kind of spirit. We pushed our chairs back and stood. 

“Thank you so much for your time,” I said. “It’s really helped.” 

We left the diner and drove around for a second until we found the library. The three of us settled into the rolling chairs and huddled around a computer. After a couple searches for murders in the area coming up with ‘no results’ Sam reached for the mouse.

Dean smacked his hand away. “I got it.” 

I grabbed my own mouse and turned on a different computer. I could hear them arguing behind me but searched my own guess. Angry spirits are born of violent deaths, not necessarily murder. Instead, I searched for suicides in the area. There was one result. 

“Nineteen eighty-one,” I started and the two brothers shut up and scooted over to look at what I’d found. “Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, leapt off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” 

“Does it say why she did it?” Sam asked, leaning over my shoulder and squinting at the screen. 

“Uh, yeah…an hour before they found her, she called 911—her two little kids were in the bath and she left them alone for a second. They drowned.” 

Dean pointed at the black and white photo with the article. “Does that bridge look familiar to you?” 

It was the same bridge where Troy’s car had been found. 

The sun had set by the time we got back to the bridge. We parked the car and headed to the center of the bridge. 

Dean leaned over the railing. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.” 

“You think Dad would’ve been here?” Sam asked. 

“Well, he was chasing this story and we’re chasing him…” 

“So what now?” I asked, spinning around slowly. 

“Now we keep digging till we find him,” Dean huffed. “Which might take a while.” 

“Dean,” Sam sighed, “I told you. I’ve gotta be back by—” 

“Monday,” Dean finished. “Right, the interview. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” He spun to face Sam and I could tell he was getting irritated. “You think you’re just gonna become a lawyer? Marry your girlfriend?” 

“Dean,” I warned. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam said. “Why not?” 

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? About the things you’ve done?” 

I grabbed Dean’s arm, but he just shrugged it off.

“No,” Sam said roughly. “And she’s never going to.” 

“Well that’s healthy,” Dean scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you’re gonna have to face up to who you are.” 

Sam forced a sarcastic smile. “And who’s that?” 

Dean threw his arms wide and grinned. “You’re one of us.” 

I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair and down my face. They were most definitely brothers. 

“No,” Sam cried. “I’m not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

“You have a responsibility,” Dean insisted. 

“To who? To Dad? To his…crusade? If it weren’t for pictures, I wouldn’t even know what Mom looked like. What difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom’s gone and she’s not coming back.” 

Dean snapped. He grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt and pushed him against the bridge railings. 

I took a careful step forward, but knew Dean wouldn’t hurt Sam. No one talked about their little brother the way Dean did and then hurt them.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he hissed. He glared at him for a moment longer before letting him go and stepping back. 

The engine of the impala revved loudly, breaking the heavy silence on the bridge. 

I turned to see the lights shining in our direction and swallowed hard. “Uh, Dean, who’s driving your car?” 

Dean shoved his hands in his pocket and pulled out his car keys. 

The tires squealed loudly as the car sped towards us. There was no way we were going to outrun the Impala so we dove off the side of the bridge. Sam and I caught ourselves on the side railings but Dean went sailing past us and splashed into the river below. The car sped past and came to a squealing halt. 

My arms strained for a moment as I pulled myself back up and over the railing. Sam and I stood there for a second before leaning back over the side of the bridge and scanning the water. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled. 

A very dirty, very wet Dean crawled out of the river and flopped over on the bank. 

“Are you okay?” I called. 

“Super,” he shouted back. 

Sam and I waited on the bridge until Dean made his way back up on the bridge. Dean hurried to the impala and gave it a once over. 

“Is it okay?” I asked. 

Dean nodded. “Looks like whatever she did is gone now. That Constance chick…what a bitch!” Dean yelled. 

“Well, she doesn’t want us poking around,” Sam grumbled. 

“Where’s the trail lead to next, genius?” I grumbled. 

Dean shrugged and looked down at his mud-covered self. 

Sam’s nose wrinkled and he looked over at Dean. “You smell like a toilet.” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I need a shower. Let’s go get a room.” 

The drive back to town was a tense one. 

We pulled into the first motel we saw and Dean slapped a credit card on the counter. 

The guy looked at the card and then back at Dean. “You guys having some kind of reunion or something?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What d’you mean?” 

“Another guy, uh, Bert Aframain, came in and bought out a room for the whole month.” 

“And what room was that?” I asked. 

The guy seemed hesitant but flipped through the log book and gave us the room number. 

The door creaked open to reveal John’s lair. Dean turned on the light and we looked around to see newspaper clippings, articles, and pictures taped all over the walls. 

Dean lifted a half-eaten burger from the nightstand. “I don’t think he’s been here for a couple days.” 

Sam nudged the ring of salt around the bed with the toe of his shoe. “He was worried; trying to keep something from coming in.” 

I stepped closer to the walls and started reading the articles. “These are Centennial Highway victims,” I said, frowning at the black and white photos. “I don’t get this. Different men, jobs, age, ethnicities. Isn’t there usually a connection? Something they have in common?” 

Sam huffed suddenly and I turned to see what he was looking at. “Dad figured it out.” 

“What d’you mean?” Dean asked. 

“He found the article about Constance. But she’s not just a ghost, she’s a Woman in White.” I moved to look around Sam’s shoulder the best I could and scanned the article.

Dean was looking at the wall of victims with a smirk. “Ah, so if we’re dealing with a Woman in White, Dad would’ve found the corpse and destroyed it.” 

“She might have another weakness,” Sam muttered. 

Dean shook his head. “Dad would want to make sure; he’d dig her up. Does it say where she’s buried?” 

I shook my head. “No, not in the article. But we could ask her husband.” 

“If he’s still alive,” Sam said. 

“Okay, well see if you can find an address,” Dean suggested. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” 

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, Dean, what I said earlier about Mom and Dad, I’m sorry.” 

Dean held up a hand. “No chick flick moments.”

I scoffed. “You love chick flicks.” 

“Do not.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, jerk.” 

“Bitch,” Dean replied before he disappeared into the bathroom. 

“It must be nice to have a brother to hunt with,” I said. “You know he’s always got your back.” 

Sam shrugged. “I guess.” 

“Well, I’m an only child so I only ever got to go on hunts with my parents,” I explained. “My dad was pretty cool but my mom was constantly paranoid about me getting hurt and mostly made me just stay back and do research or whatever.” 

“Yeah, I get that. Dean and my dad would regularly go out on hunts without me; sometimes for days at a time.” 

I scowled. There was one more reason to hate John Winchester. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go listen to messages from Jess. When Dean’s done we should probably find a phone book and track down Constance’s husband.” 

I nodded and pulled out my own phone to check my messages. My mom had called about five times since I’d looked the day before, all messages just telling me she loved me and hoped I was okay. My dad had called once. 

Dean came out of the bathroom in new clothes and wet hair. “I’m starving,” he announced, grabbing his jacket. “I’m gonna go find something to eat; you guys want anything?” 

“A burger, if you can find a decent one,” I said and nodded at Sam in the corner. “He’s on the phone with Jess.” 

“I’ll find something.” Dean walked out the door. 

Sam flipped his phone shut and turned around. 

“How’s Jess doing?” 

Sam shrugged. “She’s kinda worried; I only told her it was family stuff so she doesn’t know the whole story.” 

“You miss her?” I asked, although it was obvious. 

He smiled at me and moved to his bag. After shuffling around for a second, he stood and showed me the small velvet box in his hand. “After I get into law school, I’m gonna propose.”

I was going to ask what would happen if he didn’t get in, but his phone started ringing and he hurried to answer it. After a second, his face got stony and he hurried over to the window. “What about you?” 

“What’s going on?” I was on my feet now and I moved to the window just in time to see the black cop from earlier slam Dean down onto the hood of his car. “Shit.” 

Sam grabbed his jacket and moved to the back of the room where a window was nestled. He pushed the window open and knocked the screen out. “We’ve gotta go talk to her husband and get this wrapped up. Any longer here and we might all end up in prison.” 

I didn’t question it and followed him out the window. The two of us crept around the side of the building just in time to see Dean being loaded into the back of a police car. 

“Shit,” I grumbled, “he had the car keys on him.” 

“Nah,” Sam shook his head. “He put them on the front tire. We have...protocols for this kind of thing.” 

Once the police car pulled out of the parking lot, Sam and I left our hiding place and crept over to the Impala. Sam slid into the driver’s seat, hurried to turn the car on, and peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove us back to the library and pulled along the curb. “Stay here, I’ll go find the address for Constance’s husband.” He left me sitting in the passenger side of the car, nervously checking behind the Impala to make sure no cops had followed us. 

After a couple minutes, Sam came back with a scrap of paper in hand. 

“Got it?”

“Got it.” Sam started the engine and sped off. 

It was a small house on a large spread of land. Broken down cars and trailers littered the yard and I wondered why he had so many just laying around. None of them worked anymore.

Sam marched straight up to the front door and knocked. A second passed before the door creaked open. The guy standing there was skinny with dark, wrinkled skin and an old baseball hat on his head. He looked between us. 

“Hi,” Sam started, “are you Joseph Welch?”

“Yeah…” he said, obviously hesitant. 

“Great.” Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out a photo, passing it to Joseph. “Have you seen that guy in the middle?”

Joseph took the picture and stepped out onto the porch. “Yeah, he was older, but that’s him. He came by three or four days ago, said he was some kind of reporter.” 

Sam smiled to himself, knowing we were on the right track. “That’s right; we’re supposed to be working on a story together.”

Joseph frowned. “Well, I don’t know what the hell kinda story you’re working on...the questions he asked me…”

“About Constance,” I finished. 

He pulled a face. “He asked me where she was buried.”

“And where is that again?” I pushed. 

“What? I gotta do this twice?”

“Just fact checking,” Sam lied.

“If you don’t mind,” I added. 

Joseph sighed. “In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge.”

“Why did you move?”

Joseph shook his head, his eyes growing distant. “I’m not gonna live in the house where my children died.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?”

“No way.” He shook his head. “Constance was the love of my life; prettiest woman I’d ever known.”

“So you had a happy marriage?” I asked. Really, we already guessed at the answer. But I wanted to check in case we were wrong. 

Joseph seemed to think for a minute before answering. “Definitely.”

I could see through his lie and smiled sadly at him. “Well, that should about do it. Thank you for your time.” I turned and walked a couple steps. I didn’t notice Sam wasn’t following until I heard him talk behind me. 

“Mr. Welch, have you ever heard of a Woman in White?”

I turned back around, eyebrows raised as Sam talked. Normally, we avoided telling people about the creepy shit we dealt with on a day-to-day basis.

“A Woman in White,” Sam continued, “or sometimes, Weeping Woman, is a ghost story. Well, more of a phenomenon, really.”

“Sam,” I said, crossing my arms and wondering what the hell he was doing. 

He ignored me and took a couple steps forward. “They’re spirits that have been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places--Hawaii, Mexico, Arizona, Indianna--all these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story.”

I shook my head. Whatever he was doing, I was just gonna have to let him get through whatever this was. He was obviously frustrated and stressed. So if he was going to spew some ghost story to this guy, whatever. 

“You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them and these women, suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children. Once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now, their spirits are cursed, walking back roads and waterways, and if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him and that man is never seen again.”

Joseph’s chin trembled. “You think...you think that has something to do with Constance, you smartass?”

Sam only shrugged and I stepped forward to grab his arm. This was over. 

“Maybe I made some mistakes,” Joseph spat, “but no matter what I did, Constance never would have killed her own children. Now you get the hell outta here and don’t come back.”

I pulled Sam around and we headed back to the Impala. “What was that?” I asked as we settled in the car. “You just wanted to make him feel shitty?”

Sam stayed quiet, his eyes glued to the road as he drove.

“We already knew she was a Woman in White and he’s already been through enough, don’t you think?”

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and I rolled my eyes. 

“I think I just heard some gunshots,” he said once the phone stopped ringing, “over by Whiteford Road.” He waited for a second before hanging up. 

“How long till Dean calls, d’you think?” I asked.

Sam shrugged. “Five minutes.”

“Do you think your dad left the body? Seems kind of…”

“Sloppy, for sure.”

I wasn’t thinking ‘sloppy,’ but ‘set up.’ I decided not to say that though.

Sam’s cell phone rang and he flipped it open, putting it on speaker so I could hear as well. 

“Fake nine-one-one phone call, Sammy, that’s pretty illegal,” Dean’s voice came through and I could hear his smirk.

“You’re welcome.”

“Your brother’s an idiot,” I announced.

“Ah, what’d he do this time?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Sam beat me to it. “Tell you later.”

“Okay, well, we gotta talk.”

“First, the husband was unfaithful,” Sam explained, “so we are dealing with a Woman in White. And she’s buried behind her old house so that must have been Dad’s next stop.”

“Sammy, would you shut up for a second?”

I heard, but Sam was so focused on the story he was telling that he didn’t listen. 

“I just can’t figure out why Dad wouldn’t have destroyed the corpse already.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Dean practically shouted. “He’s gone; Dad left Jericho.”

Sam’s jaw twitched, his fingers tightening on the wheel. 

“How do you know?” I asked. 

“I’ve got his journal,” Dead sighed. 

“What’s it say?”

“Same old ex-marine crap he uses when he wants to let us know where he’s going.”

I frowned. The more I found out about John Winchester, the more I disliked him.

“Coordinates,” Sam scoffed. “Where to?”

“I’m not sure yet…”

Sam shook his head. “What the hell is going on?”

In the quiet, I looked ahead just in time to see something in the middle of the road. My arm shot out to grab Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, look out!”

Sam grabbed the wheel with both hands and slammed on the breaks. We were thrown against our seatbelts and the car came to a screeching halt. 

“Was that…” Sam huffed. 

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Take me home.”

We both spun around to see the ghost of Constance Welch sitting in the back seat. “Take me home,” she repeated, her voice hard and demanding. 

Sam swallowed hard, turning back around to face the road but keeping his eyes on Constance in the rearview mirror. “No.”

Clicks echoed through the car as the locks fell into place. I tugged at the lock to no avail. I cursed when the gear shift moved so the car was in drive and the Impala surged forward. I tried the window next, jamming the button down with my finger in hopes that it would roll down and I’d be able to get out. But no. So I needed to find some kind of weapon. Most of the weapons we used were in the trunk, but there had to be something in the glove box or under the seats. 

The car came to a halt in front of an old, abandoned house and shut off. 

I paused my search to turn and look at Constance. She flickered for a moment and her expression was heartbreaking. I felt bad for her. She didn’t want to be a ghost, wandering around this road, killing. She wanted a faithful husband and loving kids. 

“I can never go home,” she said quietly. 

Sam squinted at the house for a moment. “You’re afraid to go home.” 

I stared at the house, too, realizing that this was where Constance had killed her children. Of course she was afraid to go home. 

Constance flickered onto Sam’s lap, her hands pressing against his chest. She leaned forward to whisper into his ear. “Hold me.”  
I dove around my seat, feeling my hands along the seats and the floor beneath it, hoping to find anything. Anything at all. 

“You can’t kill me,” Sam said. “I’m not unfaithful; never have been.” When Sam cried out, I turned back around, something in hand, to see Constance pressing her head actually into Sam’s chest. 

“You will be,” she hissed. 

I flung whatever it was that I had in my hand at Constance. As soon as it left my fingers, I was slammed back against the door, my head hitting the window and my ears ringing. I blinked hard, trying to stop my vision from shaking. 

Sam was pulling on the collar of his shirt down to expose five, burning finger marks on his chest. Constance flickered back into existence, her face skeletal and zombie-like.  
I was getting real sick of her disappearing act and my eyes fell on the keys still dangling in the ignition. There was a loud shatter and glass rained down on us as I dove across the seat and turned the keys before Constance realized what was happening. Sam knew what I was doing, pressing down the gas pedal before I could even put the car in drive. The engine roared and then we were shooting forward, bumping up over the wrap-around-porch until we crashed through the front wall of the house. 

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice came through the house. “Cori?”

“Here!” I called, finally able to push the door open and climb out. “Here.” 

Dean made his way across the rubble of the wall, his gun in hand. Sam pushed the driver’s side door open and got out. 

“This is Constance’s home,” Sam said. “This is where she killed her kids.” 

Constance walked into the room, bending down to pick up the large picture frame on the floor. “I can never go home,” she whispered. 

The three of us held our breath, waiting for her to do something. She noticed us, tossing the picture to the side and flicking her eyes from a large dresser across the room back to us. The furniture went flying into us, pressing us all back against the wall. She moved towards us but stopped when the sound of water echoed through the room. My eyes followed the sound to see water dripping down the set of stairs across the room. Standing at the top of the stairs were two kids, a boy and a girl. 

They were cute in a dead, ghosty kind of way. “You’ve come home to us, Mommy,” they said. I shivered when they spoke in unison; it was so creepy when ghosts did shit like that. 

The children disappeared and reappeared behind their mother. She spun around to face them and when they hugged her, she screamed. Blue light flashed around them before they melted into a puddle of water. 

It was rare for something to get resolved enough for a ghost to disappear just like that. But I couldn’t say it wasn’t nice. I liked not having to kill the thing myself sometimes. 

Now that Constance was gone, we could push the dresser away. 

Dean walked over to the puddle on the ground. “So, this is where she drowned her kids.”

Sam nodded. “That’s why she could never go home.”

“She was afraid to face what she’d done,” I added. “I would be too.” 

Dean slapped Sam’s chest and Sam laughed painfully. “You guys found her weak spot. Good job.” He turned around to look at his car.

“You okay?” I asked Sam.

Sam smiled at me and nodded. “I’ve definitely had worse.” He also turned to address Dean. “What were you thinking, Dean, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Constance,” I corrected. 

“It saved your ass,” Dean said with a shrug. He bent to inspect the Impala. “If you guys screwed up my car, I’ll kill you.”

The only thing wrong with the car was a broken headlight and that was easily fixable. 

I was laying in the back seat, massaging my throbbing wrist, while Sam and Dean rode in the front. Sam had a map unfolded in his lap, looking for the coordinates John Winchester had left in his journal--35-111. 

“Found it,” Sam said, stabbing his finger into the map. “Some place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”

“Sounds charming,” I piped up from the back. 

“How far is it?” Dean asked. 

“About six-hundred miles.”

Dean smirked. “If we shag ass, we can make it by morning.”

I let my hands fall onto my stomach, waiting for the inevitable disappointment Dean was about to experience. He’d gotten his hopes too high too fast and had forgotten that this was strictly a one time thing for his brother. He hadn’t forgotten about Sam’s interview, he was ignoring it. And now he was gonna get hurt. 

I’d only known Sam for a little over a day but even I knew Sam wasn’t going to ditch law school for hunting. 

Sam was quiet for a minute. “Dean, I, um…”

Dean’s happy mood was gone, just like that. “You’re not going.”

“The interview’s in, like, ten hours. I gotta be there.”

I had to hand it to him, he was dedicated to this whole lawyer thing. I was like Dean with a one-track mind set on hunting. 

Dean nodded, his lips pulled in a tight line. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He scoffed and smiled, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll take you home.” 

The rest of the ride was silent and I managed to dip in and out of sleep. I woke all the way up when we came to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment building. Sam and I both got out of the car and Sam gave me a sad smile. “Maybe I can meet up with you guys later?”

I smiled back at him and nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“It was nice to meet you, Cori.”

I nodded. “Yeah, you too.” I climbed into the front seat as Sam walked away. Dean was gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “You okay?”

He moved suddenly, rolling down the window and sticking his head out. “Sam,” he called, “you know, we made one helluva a team back there. The three of us.” 

Sam nodded and then offered one more sad smile before heading up the stairs. 

“Hey, pull over,” I said. “I left the snacks in the trunk and, if it’s six hundred miles, I’m gonna need something to eat.”

“Can’t we just stop at a gas station sometime?” Dean asked. 

I shook my head. “No, because I’m hungry now and I don’t want to stop if we don’t have to. Come on, just pull over for two seconds.” 

Dean groaned but pulled over anyway. I hurried out of the car to the trunk to grab the bag of snacks. After sliding into the passenger seat and buckling I looked over at Dean,  
putting a hand on his arm. 

“Ya know, it’s okay to be sad that Sam’s not coming,” I told him. 

“I’m not sad,” Dean scoffed. 

I rolled my eyes. “I see right through you, Dean Winchester.”

It was then that orange fire exploded out of Sam’s apartment building. Dean threw the door open, running out of the car and I followed close behind. As we ran up the stairs, I realized the fire was coming from Sam’s apartment. Dean rammed the door open with his shoulder and we ran inside. 

“Sammy!”

“Sam!” 

We plowed into Sam’s room, fire licking up and down the walls, running across the ceiling. Sam was on the bed staring up at the ceiling. He was shouting something and it took me a minute to realize he was calling out for Jessica. 

Dean pulled him from the bed, pushing him towards me and I gripped Sam’s shirt. I yanked him out of the room and through the apartment. Dean followed not far behind, his phone to his ear as he pushed us out of the apartment. 

Once we were on the ground, Sam stopped fighting. He knew that there was nothing he could do to save Jess no matter how badly he wanted to. 

A fire truck appeared at the scene along with a couple cop cars and an ambulance. They put out the fire, looked Sam over, and took a statement--which was complete bullshit of course. Sam and I were standing over by the Impala while Dean gave his statement. I chewed the inside of my lip, trying not to say anything. My humanity kept telling me that I needed to fill the silence with something. Anything. But I knew that nothing I said mattered. 

Dean returned from the crowd that had gathered, his expression somber. He looked at me and then stared at Sam until Sam looked up at him. 

Sam pushed himself off the car. “We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
